


Hope Burns Bright Despite All Darkness

by starbuck92



Category: Ant-Man (2015), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Backstory, Character Study, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Gen, Lots of MCU cameos, Though Tony wound up taking the co-star position of this work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuck92/pseuds/starbuck92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There’s no manual on how to raise kids when you do what we do.” </p>
<p>Parenting isn’t easy, even for genuine superheroes. It turns out that growing up with only one of those parents isn’t a walk in the park either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Burns Bright Despite All Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is my take on the backstory of Hope van Dyne. A lot of these headcanons started tumbling around in my head the minute the credits started rolling at the end of my first viewing of Ant-Man and eventually I had enough to tell a story. Features several MCU character cameos.
> 
> A huge thank you to Avery for taking the time to beta read what eventually wound up becoming 26 pages on Word! She was the one who helped me make this story a lot stronger and more refined with her suggestions. 
> 
> “Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” Desmond Tutu

Hope Pym is born on an unusually cool day in August as the heat of summer diminishes and the first stirrings of autumn rustle the leaves in the trees. Hank and Janet had not been actively trying to start a family just yet and the nine months preceding her birth are laden with anxiety as the parents-to-be speculate whether or not their unusual occupations would have any adverse effects on their child.

Every fear the couple has is dispelled the moment they hear the first healthy cries of their daughter; tears stream down their faces as the nurse settles the baby girl in Janet’s waiting arms. There are ten little fingers, ten little toes, and a shock of hair as dark as her mother’s on her head, absolutely perfect in every way.

Her father shakes his head in wonder, murmuring, “She’s definitely not the size of an ant,” and her mother cracks up in appreciation of his humor, leaning in to kiss her husband.

Resting their foreheads together, Hank and Janet share a look of love and joy, and in that moment, everything is right in the world.

* * *

“Fly me, Mommy! Fly me!”

Peggy Carter watches from a distance as the toddler bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, arms reaching for the sky, making grabbing motions toward her mother. Janet grins broadly as she lifts the girl up and Hope shrieks with joy as they spin around the lawn until they are giddy with dizziness.

She waits on the deck at the back of the house with tea when Janet returns with a tuckered out Hope in her arms. Janet takes a seat next to her friend and mentor and murmurs her thanks. The two women sit silently for some time, enjoying the cool breeze coming off the bay as they drink their tea, happy for the shared solitude and momentary respite from their busy lives. 

Setting down her mug, Peggy nods toward the child. “It seems like every time I’m able to steal away for a visit, she’s grown so much more than the last time I saw her.”

Janet looks down, her smile faltering ever so slightly as she gazes at her sleeping daughter cradled in her arms and brushes the dark bangs away from the toddler’s face.

“What is it?” Peggy leans forward, a line of concern creasing her brow.

It takes a moment for the younger woman to reply as she mulls over the thoughts in her head. “There’s no manual on how to raise kids when you do what we do, Peg. Every time Hank and I leave on a mission, there’s always the chance we won’t come back. Or worse, that someone will find out who we really are and use Hope as leverage against us.”

There is a flash in Janet’s eyes and Peggy knows with absolute certainty that anyone foolish enough to use the girl as a pawn would regret it when they came face to face with her mother. From the moment Janet had discovered she was pregnant, a fierce flame of protectiveness had ignited within her; Hope had instantly become the most important thing in Janet’s life. With Peggy’s blessing, Janet had utilized every resource at her disposal to ensure that her daughter was safeguarded against harm, going so far as using SHIELD to vet the woman who would be hired as Hope’s caretaker when her parents were called away.

Janet takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, but her expression remains tense. “I know what we do is important, Peg, and I will continue to suit up as long as the Wasp is needed, but even with all of the protection in place, I still find myself worrying about her.”

Peggy reaches for her friend’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. There is an intensity in her eyes when she replies, “Darling, I believe you asked me to be Hope’s godmother for good reason. I won’t ever let anything happen to her. You have my word.”

* * *

They are in New York for the weekend and the Starks invite them to dinner Sunday evening. After the adults exchange the usual pleasantries, Howard immediately whisks Hank away to his office to talk business, leaving Janet and Maria to introduce their children to each other.

Tony Stark clambers down the stairs into the foyer, all floppy hair and gangly limbs, wearing an MIT sweatshirt that has seen better days, the cotton stained with oil and grease and God knows what else. He shakes Janet’s hand and gives her an easy smile in greeting before he notices the little girl clinging to her mother’s leg, tilting his head as he peers down at her freckled face. 

“Wow, kid, you could host a Connect Four tournament all over your face!” he exclaims, his forefinger lightly poking the tip of her button nose.

Hope blinks in surprise, her timidity vanishing in an instant as she gives the boy’s shin a swift kick in response.

Their mothers shriek in outrage at the rude exchange, but a slow grin softens Tony’s face and Hope giggles quietly. Before the women even think about forcing them to apologize, he beckons for her to join him in his father’s workshop, talking a mile a minute about robotics and something called “dummy.” 

When Janet and Maria go to retrieve them an hour later for dinner, they find the pair hunched over a work table, a game of Connect Four positioned between them. Tony makes a noise of disgust, throwing his hands in the air, exclaiming that it shouldn’t be this hard to beat a five-year-old.

The child reaches over and pushes the button to release the colored discs from the grid, raising her eyebrows, directing a look of the utmost innocence toward the older boy. Tony plants his hands on the table, considering his opponent, and sighs deeply.

“Best out of ten?”

Hope just smiles.

* * *

If there is one thing Janet does not enjoy about having to travel so often, it is packing. She always prudently checks the forecast for their destination, but still somehow ends up taking more than is necessary, especially when Hope is joining them on a trip. Three suitcases sit atop the bed and the colorful bag decorated with Care Bears patches is once again the fullest. She sighs and rummages through the luggage one more time, sparing a glance at her husband who is seated at the other end of the bed, leaning against the headboard with their daughter sitting on his lap.

Janet can’t help but smile at the look of sheer concentration on the little girl’s face as she shuffles through her father’s research notes. Hope is so immersed in what she is reading that she barely takes notice of Hank brushing the tangles out of her hair, his hands gentle as he smooths out her wavy locks. Once he is finished, he drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“Sweetheart, I need your help with some of these pronunciations. Can you tell me what they say?”

Hope tilts her head back, giving him an upside down smile and a giggle. “Daddy, they’re _your_ ants. You know what they’re called.”

Janet covers her mouth to keep from laughing as Hank frowns in confusion, shaking his head and playing dumb. “I’m _supposed_ to know what they’re called, but I can’t seem to remember. Can you please help me, Hope?”

The girl exhales loudly, pulling the papers closer, but there is a twinkle in her eyes as she points at each illustration, expertly reciting the scientific names that her parents have taught her. The multisyllabic words roll off her tongue easily, and Janet knows if she were to ask, Hope would be able to provide extensive details about each species.

She has known for some time that her daughter’s intelligence wasn’t limited to memorizing passages from her parents’ research texts. Hope has an uncanny ability to quickly pick up everything she is taught and there is already talk from the teachers at her school to move her up a grade or two. Hank had beamed with pride and wholeheartedly supported the idea, but Janet had interceded every time the issue was raised.

She loves her kid more than anything in the world and does not want to hold her back from her education, but Hope is six years old and needs to be around other children her own age no matter how smart she is. She has unfortunately seen firsthand what can happen to a person who is robbed of a childhood and she’ll be damned if she lets that happen to her daughter.

Hank claps his hands as Hope identifies the last ant and she turns to look back at him again, a cheeky smile on her face.

“Tony can’t even pronounce these! He always messes them up!”

Janet hides a snicker behind a cough, knowing perfectly well that Tony Stark can wrap his tongue around any word in the dictionary, and her husband raises an eyebrow at her, his own expression one of mischief.

“Well, Tony can’t hold a candle to you, sweetheart. Pyms are way smarter than Starks. Isn’t that right, honey?”

The woman chuckles softly, plucking a yawning Hope out of her father’s arms and snuggling her. “Sorry, babe, but I think your little girl is already smitten with young Mr. Stark. I don’t think anything you say will turn her against him.”

Hank starts to protest, but Janet leans in and gives him a brief yet passionate kiss, effectively shutting him up. She straightens and runs a soothing hand against her sleepy daughter’s back, the corner of her mouth quirking. “I’m going to get Hope ready for bed. When I come back, we can either keep talking about the great divide between the intelligence of the Pyms and the Starks or you can actually show me some other things that make Pyms better. Deal?”

The man on the bed stares at his wife with a look of wonder and can only nod his head in reply.

* * *

There are too many people in the house. People bringing food and flowers. People speaking to one another in quiet, sad voices. People in nice suits and dresses.

People dressed all in black.

Tony is acutely uncomfortable walking through the groups of mourners crowding the first floor of the Pym home, trying to avoid as many people as possible, but the task is difficult when you’re Howard Stark’s kid and nearly everyone present knows. Too many times he is stopped, forcing smiles and mumbling answers to the same questions over and over again, his frustration mounting as he is continuously deterred from finding the one person he does want to talk to.

After breaking away from Mitchell Carson, Tony finally escapes up the stairs to the second floor. He wanders from room to room, finding them all empty, his forehead creasing in a puzzled frown until he locates another set of stairs leading to a third floor. The hallway there is dark but for a single ray of sunshine peeking through the only open door.

Rapping his knuckles gently against the wooden doorframe, he enters the room to find Hope sitting alone on her bed, a picture frame on her lap and her face half hidden by the curtain of her long, dark hair.

“Hey, Connect Four,” he murmurs in greeting.

Hope doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t ask him to leave either. Deciding that’s a good sign, he wanders further into the room, his steps slow and measured, giving her every opportunity to change her mind if she truly wants to be left alone. She still hasn’t moved by the time he reaches her bedside and now that he is certain she isn’t going to kick him out of her room, he settles himself on the mattress next to her, shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the frame in her small hands.

Janet and Hope are caught in the middle of a laugh in the image, silver halide crystals and chemical reactions fused together to freeze the happy moment on celluloid forever. 

A ghost of a smile appears on Tony’s face. “Your mom was one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. Did I ever tell you she loved to pull pranks and my dad was one of her favorite targets? I remember one time she broke into his office and left a bunch of fake bugs all over the place. I’m serious, they were _everywhere_! And when he walked in, he screamed and ran back out. She even snuck me a copy of the surveillance footage because I didn’t believe her.”

He has to stop to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, unwilling to let Hope see him upset. It has been a little over a couple of weeks since the accident that took Janet’s life, and every time he has thought of the woman who always made time for him, always listened to him, his heart breaks all over again, feeling the sting of losing one of the very few healthy relationships he’s had with an adult. After a minute, Tony pushes past his own grief and regains control of himself; his voice is just a little softer when he continues, “She was a pretty amazing lady.”

He can tell she’s listening, noting the very subtle flicker of emotions that cross her face, the way her hands tighten almost imperceptibly around the frame of the photo.

“You’re a lot like her, you know. I think that’s the reason I like you as much as I do.”

Hope finally turns to look up at Tony, green eyes shining with tears, her lower lip trembling faintly. “Really?”

Tony nods in response, meeting her eyes. “I’d never lie to you, Connect Four.”

Before he realizes it, she’s in his lap, skinny arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, holding onto him as if she is drowning and he is the only thing keeping her afloat, little fingers scrabbling to pull him close as her tears wet the shoulder of his suit jacket. Feeling slightly awkward, he lightly pats her back, not quite sure how to comfort her. He’s never been good at dealing with little kids, having spent his own childhood surrounded by people so much older than he was, social interaction with children his own age practically nonexistent.

Hope wasn’t an ordinary child. He had recognized that in her from the very beginning, pleased with her ability to relatively keep pace with him and appreciating her blatant honesty. Nevertheless, when he spent time with her, he remembered what it was like to just be a kid again, forgetting about the fact that he was on the verge of graduating from MIT and all of the other responsibilities weighing on his shoulders, even if it was only for a little while. She truly was a breath of fresh air from the people who were often confused by him or sought to use him for his intelligence or status as the son of a brilliant millionaire. 

Her voice is small and wobbly and so unlike how he has ever heard her sound before when she speaks again, pulling him from his own thoughts. “Tony? Every time I ask, Daddy keeps saying she’s gone, like she just went away on a trip or something. But Mommy isn’t coming home, is she?”

Tony closes his eyes, silently cursing Hank Pym for skirting the truth with his own daughter and remembering his own promise not to lie. Suddenly, he simply knows what he needs to do. Something clicks in his heart and brain and he slides his arms more securely around her, holding her tight, because this is _Hope_ , the girl he has come to love like the little sister he never had, and she needs him to be honest with her no matter how much the truth hurt.

“No, Hope, she’s not coming home. Your mommy died. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She digs her fingers deeper into his shoulders and he winces in response, but the momentary pain is minuscule compared to what she must be feeling and he doesn’t let go of her. He’s just there for her, letting his warm embrace be a safe place for her to cry until she’s exhausted herself.

Tony isn’t sure if minutes or maybe hours have passed when a quiet, British accented voice calls out, “Hope, darling, are you in here?” 

He forces his eyes open, finding Peggy Carter standing at the foot of the bed. Instantly alert in her presence, Tony struggles to sit up, but there’s a warm weight against his chest and he looks down to find Hope sound asleep, her head tucked beneath his chin.

Peggy moves to stand beside them, still keeping her voice low. “People have been asking after the both of you. We must not disappoint them. Up you get, love.”

She gently extracts the sleeping child from his arms, then offers him a hand to help him out of his cramped position, studying him with clever dark eyes. He’s just about her height now, yet he still feels like a little boy standing next to her, and the tips of his ears start to heat beneath her scrutiny. She surprises him, however, when she leans over and drops a swift kiss onto his cheek, running a soothing hand down his arm.

“You’re a good boy, Tony Stark. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He stares after her as she walks out of the room and he isn’t sure why he suddenly needs to swipe at his burning eyes, but the moment abruptly passes and he follows the pair back downstairs, oblivious to the fact that the little girl in Peggy’s arms would be struggling to console him in the worst kind of role reversal only four years later.

* * *

By this point in her life, the headmaster’s office feels like a second home to her; when she is not being praised for yet another remarkable achievement, she is often being reprimanded. The last few months, she has found herself visiting the familiar office more often for the latter reason, warily watching as her teachers’ stares of wonder at her intelligence darken into looks of concern at her behavior.

Today’s visit makes her feel particularly uneasy.

Her father, who has been away to who knows where on business for the past month, has been called in, and she sits in the chair by his side, sporting a black eye, her gaze fixed on her knees while he is told that his nine-year-old daughter has now been involved in three fights at school, the last one ending with her breaking her opponent’s nose.

The headmaster sighs deeply, clasping his hands together upon his desk as he looks Hank in the eye. “Dr. Pym, your daughter is brilliant and shows tremendous potential, the sort that this school could truly benefit from, but the truth is that fighting will not be tolerated. I’m sorry, but I have no choice but to expel Hope.”

She is told to gather her belongings while the headmaster and her father take care of the paperwork. Sliding from the chair, her jaw set, she exits the room without a backward glance, head held high as she walks to her locker to retrieve her things.

The car ride home is anything but pleasant as Hank directs question after question to his brooding, wayward daughter, clearly struggling to comprehend her actions, completely clueless as to what she has been going through.

“What were you thinking, Hope? Were you even thinking? That kid was at least three years older than you! Your mother would have never--”

She doesn’t allow him to finish the statement, whipping her head around, and her heated response finally shatters her silence.

“Mom isn’t _here_!”

A sharp spike of pain pierces her heart at the mention of her mother, pain so fierce it leaves her gasping for breath, and the weight of all the grief she carries suddenly becomes unbearable. She feels like she is going to hit the ground harder than the airplane crash that killed her mother, and it’s too much, _too much_ , and all of a sudden everything she has been holding back comes bubbling forth in a rush of words and angry tears.

“She’s not here, Dad! She’s _dead_ , but I wish she was here because she would have stood up for me! She would have asked him what my side of the story was because she would have known I wouldn’t pick a fight with someone for no good reason! She would have fought for me instead of sitting around doing nothing but signing off on some paperwork to kick me out of school! That’s what Mom would have done!”

Several moments pass and all Hope can hear is the rapid pounding of her heart as she watches her father open and close his mouth, unable to articulate what he is thinking. It isn’t often she sees him at a loss for words. Then again, it isn’t often that she sees him at all anymore.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she dares to extend an olive branch of sorts, wanting him to understand what had happened. “I was going through the pages of one of my textbooks during lunch because I was bored. There was a section on entomology.”

Hank freezes and he seems to know what is coming before the words even leave her mouth. 

“The boy I got into a fight with saw me and was making fun of me for crying. There was a picture of you and Mom I had never seen before. You looked so happy.”

Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence, but she doesn’t care. Hope looks at her father imploringly, yearning to feel some sort of connection to him, but Hank says nothing, not even glancing at her as he keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Stung by his distance, she turns her attention to the world passing by outside the window, fingernails digging into the palms of her hands as she wrestles against the tears that threaten to fall.

As they pull up the drive, she is already unbuckling her seatbelt, desperate to get away from him, but his next proclamation stops her cold.

“I’m going to hire a private tutor for you to finish the rest of the term at home. You can start a new school in the autumn.”

She wrinkles her nose in distaste at the thought of being taught one on one by a complete stranger, and even though she is furious and hurt by the treatment he has given her today, her lower lip trembles as she blurts out, “Why can’t you teach me?”

“I can’t afford to split my time between your education and my work. There should be someone available to you that can meet your educational needs more often than I can.” He pauses for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tight, and his voice is softer when he finally says, “My focus has to be on my work, Hope.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she recoils as if he has physically slapped her. This time, however, she steadies herself before replying, reining in every emotion except for the unconditional bitterness and disappointment she feels toward the man sitting in the car beside her. When she speaks, her voice sounds so much older than she is, the words as cold as frost.

“Is that really where your focus should be?”

Before he can answer, she climbs out of the car, slamming the door and racing inside, shutting herself in her room and wishing for the first time ever that she had been with her mother when she died.

* * *

She has found some peace in her life while attending the Ethel Walker School, excelling in her advanced academic curriculum, becoming well-liked by the faculty as well as her fellow classmates, and busying herself with her extracurricular schedule, including the math club, student government, and athletics.

There are regular visits from Aunt Peggy, who – unbeknownst to Hope – fulfills the promise she made to Janet to keep a watchful eye over her daughter. They meet every other weekend Peggy can get away from her work in Washington, attending plays and visiting museums, enriching Hope’s cultural appreciation. It is over a cup of tea one day not long after Hope has enrolled at her new school that Peggy suggests she take up martial arts, a twinkle in her eye as she claims she believes it would suit the girl. As it turns out, Peggy isn’t too far off the mark – Hope is a natural, if the trophies and medals that pile up are any indication, and the practice proves to be an excellent outlet for her grief and anger.

Visits from Tony are few and far between as the young genius keeps his nose to the grindstone, working on completing his dual masters in electrical engineering and physics at MIT. He mostly keeps in touch by sending her the most ridiculous care packages money can buy – expensive sweets, books from all over the world that he thinks she’ll enjoy, customized mechanized toys built by his own meticulous hands, prepaid credit cards that she secretly slips into the ragged book bags of a few classmates she knows are on scholarship and barely have enough money to cover all the costs of school, and some of the most age-inappropriate gag gifts she has ever seen that she hides under the bed because she can’t bear throwing away anything from the boy whom she has come to love so fiercely.

Though she keeps other people at arm’s length at the boarding school, she is still as content as she could be in Connecticut some three thousand miles away from home. Considering the state of her relationship with her father, the physical distance is probably a good thing.

There are fewer chances for them to hurt each other.

He keeps sporadic contact, phoning her maybe once or twice a month, the conversations short and civil, always ending with a “see you soon” that neither intends on following through. It isn’t until her advisors gently suggest a trip back home the summer before she begins her high school level courses of study that she boards a plane and sets foot on the West Coast for the first time in two years, not even a little surprised to find her old nanny, who has stayed on to help Hank with the housework, waiting to pick her up from the airport.

When he is home, her father spends most of his time down in the basement doing heaven knows what, only surfacing to occasionally go into his office at Pym Tech or – even more rarely – share a meal with his daughter.

Unbridled curiosity wells up in the precocious pre-teen and she formulates a clever plan to discover what could possibly be so important to Hank downstairs. She wakes one morning and walks downstairs to the kitchen to find Sanne washing the dishes; the woman lets her know her father has already left the house and is expected to be gone most of the day.

She couldn’t ask for a more perfect opportunity.

Hope grabs a yogurt from the fridge, some granola from the pantry, and a spoon from the utensils drawer before striding over to the table and climbing into a chair. As the woman finishes drying the last plate, Hope schools her features into a neutral expression and when she speaks her voice is flawlessly casual with just the right amount of curiosity.

“Sanne? What do you think about doing something nice for Daddy?”

Her nanny stores the plate back in the cupboard and takes down a tall glass, frowning slightly as she fills it with orange juice and sets it by the girl’s yogurt. “Something nice? What did you have in mind?”

Hope shrugs a shoulder, mixing granola into her yogurt and tilting her head slightly, allowing herself to look thoughtful. “He’s been working so hard ever since I came home and I haven’t really had the chance to spend any time with him.”

Sanne smiles sympathetically, lightly patting her hand. “You know he’s a very busy man, Hope.”

The girl nods in understanding, taking a bite of her yogurt and chewing for a moment before she blinks in surprise, staring down at the container. “I have an idea! A friend of mine at school gave me a really amazing recipe that her family makes for special occasions. I could make it for dinner tonight, but…” The light in her eyes dims slightly as she sets her spoon down.

“But what?” the woman inquires.

Hope sighs softly, clutching her glass of orange juice between her hands, not meeting Sanne’s eyes, sounding dejected. “It’s so complicated. There’s a lot of ingredients required. I don’t know if I could make it by myself.”

Sanne tuts, resting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t be silly. You know I can help you.”

Knowing she has the woman right where she wants her, Hope decides to play her last card, laying everything on the line. She slowly raises her big green eyes to her nanny, letting her mouth open ever so slightly as if she can’t believe what she has been told, and the hint of an innocent smile tugs at the corners of her lips. Sanne’s expression completely melts in response.

Jackpot.

The woman asks her to make a list of what she needs and Hope jumps out of the chair, giving her a hug before she thunders up the stairs to her room. She does feel remorse for her duplicity, but getting Sanne out of the house is essential to her plan. Somehow, some way, she will make it up to the woman.

As she retrieves the sheet of paper from one of her notebooks, she thinks to herself that this is the first time she is genuinely glad she has yet to hit puberty. Usually it bothered her to walk into her classes with kids two or three years older than her, many of them looking like young women while she still had the cherubic face of a little girl, but if she could use those looks to her advantage, then she would pounce on the opportunity.

Returning downstairs, Hope hands over a long list of specialized ingredients she knows will take the woman all over San Francisco along with one of Tony’s prepaid credit cards and sends her off with a smile and a wave.

Once the car is out of sight, she locks the front door and dashes downstairs with a notepad and a toolkit, attempting to break the combination on the old safe. The work is delicate, tedious, and time consuming, but she never gives up, her sheer determination prevailing over her usual impatient nature. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she peeks at her wristwatch, knowing time is against her, then pulls the paper with Tony’s scrawled suggestions closer as she chews on her pencil. Satisfied she has done everything she was supposed to, she works on figuring out the combination numbers through the graphs and plot points she’s scribbled in her notepad while listening to the wheel pack with a cheap stethoscope she had purchased at the drugstore down the block.

After she has solved the problem of determining the right numbers in the combination, she starts deciphering the correct sequence. It is well past lunchtime when she finally hears a satisfying click as the safe unlocks, the sound making her smile in delight. Hope yanks open the door and steps inside, excitement coursing through her veins, but what she finds is the very last thing she expected, and the smile is immediately wiped from her face.

Hank comes home three hours later to find his kid sitting on the floor in the middle of his vault, cradling the Ant-Man helmet in her hands and surrounded by vials of the Pym particles. She is slow to raise her head when she hears the sound of his footsteps, looking up just in time to see him grip the doorframe of the vault to steady himself when his eyes find the one empty vial resting by her worn out sneakers.

Hope can faintly recall bits and pieces of tales about a supposed superhero that could shrink in size, but she never paid them much attention, always far more interested in bedtime stories about Captain America. Those faded memories had returned to her in abrupt detail when she had shimmied her way into the suit and accidentally hit the button that released Hank’s formula into its systems, scaring the hell out of her as the world as she knew it changed in the blink of an eye. Once she had stopped panicking and figured out how to return herself to normal size, her mind had been quick to start connecting the dots, putting the pieces together until Hank had shown up in the basement. 

She runs her fingertips along the top of the helmet, dimly aware that any other kid would have been overjoyed to discover their father was a genuine superhero, but instead, doubts about everything she has ever been told crept into her awareness.

The most frightening thing, however, isn’t that Hank had kept the suit a secret from her. It is knowing that he had kept something else from her, something she previously never had any reason to suspect or question.

An even bigger secret she isn’t sure she can ever forgive.

Remembering all the times both of her parents had been gone at the same time, she swallows hard, meeting her father’s eyes as she speaks the words she now knows to be true. 

“Mom didn’t die in a plane crash.”

* * *

Once he had pulled himself together, Hank had sat down on the floor next to her, making her promise never to reveal to anyone what she had found and stressing the importance of keeping the suit and the Pym particles from the rest of the world. In exchange for her word, he gave her access to certain parts of the lab. Secretly, Hope believed he really didn’t see the point of trying to lock her out again when he now knew she was perfectly capable of breaking back in. Regardless, she promised never to tell a soul.

He eventually upgrades the overall security, including installing a fingerprint lock on the door that is keyed to only her and Hank, and she wonders who he thinks could possibly know about what he is hiding in their basement to warrant such drastic measures. She restrains herself from asking, however. They are barely on speaking terms after he refused to tell her what had really happened to her mother, but her curiosity outweighs whatever resentment has built up towards him and she explores the lab to her heart’s desire. 

One morning during the summer she turns fourteen, she finds the EMP communication device and carefully slips it over her ear. Hope has never been good at making friends, but she glides effortlessly into communicating with the ants in the lab, a rare giggle escaping her as the tiny insects move about on her command. She spends hours perched on a rickety stool playing with her new friends, the tips of her toes still hanging several inches above the concrete floor, and she is ridiculously happy for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

* * *

Hank watches from the shadows, heart aching as he remembers finding Janet like this once upon a time, and it terrifies him to witness how much of a natural his daughter is controlling the ants.

* * *

Hope graduates high school at sixteen, completes her undergraduate degree three years later, and has earned two masters by the time she is twenty-three. Every prestigious piece of paper meaning anything to her bears the name Hope van Dyne in honor of her mother’s maiden name.

Job offers start rolling in before she even walks across the stage of her third commencement in seven years, including an incredibly generous proposition from Tony: a six figure salary and employment in any one of his company’s divisions around the world, though he strongly hints he would love for her to settle down at the corporate office in Long Beach. Although she is tempted, Hope politely declines, insisting that she needs to learn to stand on her own two feet.

She returns to San Francisco on a full-time basis for the first time in almost fifteen years and accepts a lower level position at Pym Technologies as an assistant. Hope is interested in learning how the theoretical concepts she studied in school apply to the inner workings of her father’s company, starting from the bottom, determined to earn her way up to the top. It is just as safe a bet as working for Stark Industries would have been except here she can quietly ask to be treated like any other employee without someone like Tony bustling around her and treating her like royalty by virtue of their close relationship.

Hope knows she will not be treated like a princess working for her father. She is sure he hasn’t thought of her that way since she was seven.

A couple of months into her employment, she meets a young man by the name of Darren Cross who has been working closely with Hank. Although there is some initial dislike toward the man whom her father has taken on as a protégé and treats like a son, she gradually accepts his friendship, drawn to his charm and cleverness.

The pair work well together and she eventually learns that the camaraderie between Hank and Darren presented to the world is not all it seems. The relationship is tenuous at best outside of the public eye. Darren confesses his belief that Hank is holding him back, the frustration and anger in his eyes achingly familiar to the young woman who has spent most of her life feeling the same way, shut out again and again by Hank Pym. Giving him a reassuring smile, she promises to help him in whatever way she can.

At twenty-four, she is unanimously elected Chairman of the Board, and her first act of business is casting the deciding vote to remove Hank as CEO of Pym Tech, her back straight and face impassive against the defeat in her father’s eyes across the room. The board entrusts the company to Darren after Hank’s departure, and over glasses of champagne, they toast to a bright future for _their_ company.

* * *

She hops in her car the night after the board meeting and drives down to Malibu, an overwhelming sense of comfort settling in her heart as the cliffside mansion comes into view. Even though it has been a couple of years since they last saw one another, Tony doesn’t seem particularly surprised to find her on his doorstep. The reason why becomes apparent when she enters his home and finds the news airing, the headline “Pym Voted Out of Pym Tech” in big, bold letters at the bottom of the screen.

Before she can say a word, there is a glass of scotch being thrust into her hand, and she turns to find Tony studying her curiously. He lifts his own glass and motions to the pictures on the screen. “I take it this is your handiwork?”

In response, she downs the alcohol in one swallow, pulling a face, then holds out the empty glass for another. Raising his eyebrows, Tony goes back to the wet bar for a refill, murmuring, “So that’s a yes.”

With a sigh, she drops down onto the sofa and asks JARVIS to mute the television, resting her elbows on her knees and rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. After a few minutes, she feels the cushion beside her shift as Tony takes a seat next to her, setting the two tumblers and the bottle of scotch on the low table in front of them, waiting her out.

She reclaims her glass and takes a quick sip, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he nurses his own drink, still carefully watching her. Setting the tumbler down with a little more force than necessary, she pushes her long hair away from her face, skin so pale that the freckles splashed across her nose stand out more than normal.

“I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel the way I’ve felt the last seventeen years.” She bites down on her lower lip and all of a sudden she feels like she’s seven years old again, her eyes filling with tears. “Why do I feel so horrible about it?”

“Because no matter how pissed you are, he’s still your father. Nothing is ever going change that no matter what you do.” He shrugs moodily. “Get over it.”

His tone is laced with animosity, but she knows it isn’t directed at her. His relationship with his father had never been hugs and kisses either, and she is well aware that one of the reasons Tony befriended her all those years ago was because, through her, he had found someone who understood what it was like being a brilliant child dealing with a demanding yet distant parent. Neither of their fathers had ever laid a hand on them, but that did not mean they hadn’t left scars. Hope and Tony have plenty hidden beneath the skin borne of emotional distance and heartache, running bone deep after too many years. 

He refills their glasses again and leans back against the sofa, clinking his tumbler against hers. “Your dad is a shithead, Hope. Must’ve been why he got along so great with my dad until Hank accused him of trying to steal his tech.”

Hope unsteadily sets her glass back down on the table, pinching the bridge of her nose and shutting her eyes, unable to look at him. Although they had talked about her suspicions that her father had not been truthful about the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death, she had never told him about what she had found in the basement more than a decade ago, true to the promise she had made to her father. Tony designs and builds things that are lethal for a living. Although she trusts him implicitly, she isn’t so sure about Obadiah Stane, who would undoubtedly pressure Tony to break any promises and have Hank’s creations weaponized for Stark Industries’ gains if that man ever found out about the suit and the Pym particles. It still kills her to hide the truth from Tony.

She is just like her father, she thinks to herself, keeping secrets from the people she loves, and the guilt burns through her, scalding her more than the scotch she keeps consuming.

Tony leaves the sofa after a while, returning after a minute with another bottle, and she is surprised to find the first one completely empty on top of the table. Her thoughts are muddied as she tries to figure out how long they have been talking and she feels wobbly even though she is sitting down.

She takes a swallow from her freshly refilled glass just as Tony arches an eyebrow at her, his tone half playful, half serious. “So tell me the truth, Hope. Did you turn down my job offer because you were scheming to fuck your father over?”

The drink goes down the wrong direction and she starts coughing as she struggles to breathe, her eyes watering. Once she is able to draw a proper breath, she sends an icy glare in his direction, her face flushed as she growls, “You’re lucky I love you, you asshole, or I’d slap you for saying that.”

He simply takes another sip of scotch in response, his gaze steadily fixed on hers, and she suddenly realizes he is waiting for her to understand the actual meaning behind his question. Tony is eerily proficient at seeing the bigger picture, and throughout the years, she has learned to read between the lines of what most people would assume are callous comments and ascertain his true intentions.

Hope typically connected the dots with relative ease, but the alcohol has slowed her reactions and thought processes. She takes time to consider what he said. Once the proverbial light bulb went off, the brief burst of anger that had flashed through her collapses in on itself and she flops back against the sofa, the color draining from her face. Hope covers her eyes with her hands and mumbles, “If this gets out, that’s what it’s going to look like to people, isn’t it? That his cold-hearted bitch of a daughter fucking ruined his life?”

Tony slides an arm around her shoulders, cuddling her closer, and with his free hand he brushes the tip of his finger against her freckled nose, comforting her in his own way. She turns her head to meet his eyes, her own filling with tears as she recognizes the childhood gesture, and her voice breaks when she forces the next question out. “What would my mother think of me?”

The corner of Tony’s mouth curls upward and he gives her a pointed look, lifting a hand to gently brush away the single tear that has slipped down her cheek. “Janet would have loved you no matter what, Connect Four. Don’t _ever_ question that.”

Hope reaches up to clasp his hand against her cheek, giving him a rueful smile. Belatedly, she realizes that this is the nicest scotch she’s ever tasted. Tony has broken out the good stuff for her, and that thought, along with the scotch itself, makes her feel warm all over. His hand is soft and hot on her face and his very presence feels safe, familiar. It is those thoughts and feelings more than anything that send her inhibitions out the window as she tilts forward and fleetingly brushes her lips against his.

He doesn’t react when she pulls back, but she is close enough to him that she would be able to count his eyelashes if she was thinking straight. Flecks of gold flicker in his eyes as he drops his gaze to her mouth. She takes this as permission to scoot closer, her eyes drifting shut, and this time he meets her halfway.

The kisses are slow and tender at first, lips barely grazing as they come together again and again. Hope is vaguely aware that this should feel strange, but it has been a long time since she has been held like this and kissed with such care. His arms around her are a welcome weight she has known almost all her life, and she soon forgets everything except the softness of Tony’s lower lip, the way the pads of his fingers lightly caress her cheeks, and the faraway sound of the waves of the Pacific somewhere far below the house. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, giggling quietly as her nose bumps awkwardly against his and feeling just a bit clumsy in the wake of Tony’s confidence, but he merely smiles against her mouth, tangling his fingers in the long strands of her hair, giving her lower lip a sharp nip.

In response, she tugs him even closer as her own confidence gradually builds, sliding her hands underneath the back of his shirt, trailing her fingernails up and down his spine. The unexpected touch causes him to shudder against her and he kisses her harder, the intensity making her heart pound and her head spin. She feels the first brush of his tongue against hers at the same time his hands tug at the hem of her shirt and she moans involuntarily.

The small sound is what finally breaks the moment, and the abrupt realization of what they’re doing causes them to jerk apart, breathing hard and staring at each other in astonishment for several heartbeats. Her head is still swimming and her voice sounds loud to her own ears as she and Tony begin talking at once.

“Oh my God, Tony, I’m sorry!”

“Jesus, Hope, I can’t believe I did that!”

“Damn it, it’s my fault, I should have never kissed you. I would never want you to think I was leading you on!”

“Shit, I’m really sorry, I would never want you to think I was taking advantage of you.”

They stop talking at the exact same moment, frozen, neither able to turn away.

Hope wants to bolt from the room, jump in her car, and put as much distance between them as possible; her cheeks flame with embarrassment, but more than that she feels the terror that she may have just wrecked one of the best things in her life. Just as she thinks about finally moving, Tony grabs her hand to stop her, holding on tight.

“This is going to sound so cliché, but… I don’t want to ruin what we have. You’re my oldest friend and… I don’t ever want to lose you, Hope, especially not for a one night stand. I mean, I’m sure this…” He gestures with his free hand between them, struggling to get the words out. “You… You’re fucking beautiful, Hope, I’m not blind. It’s just… You… You mean more to me than that.”

Hope swallows hard, her gaze softening as she inclines her head to one side, fingers squeezing his, touched by his honesty. Before she can say anything in return, Tony decides things are much too serious and opens his big mouth first.

“Besides, you know I could never… you know… _date_ …” He squints his eyes at the foreign word in his vocabulary and continues, “…someone who went to _Harvard_.” He shudders theatrically, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “MIT would disown me.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him, a slow smile blossoming on her face as the tension that has marked the evening ebbs, leaving instead a sense of overwhelming relief. “Is that a fact?”

Tony nods, shifting his position to turn toward her again, maintaining a straight face as he continues to goad her. “You know what they say, Connect Four. MIT was MIT when Harvard was a pup, and MIT will be MIT when Harvard’s time is up! And any Harvard son of a bitch who thinks he’s in our class can pucker up his rosy lips and kiss the Beaver’s ass!”

Before he can finish the stupid song, she grabs a pillow and hits him hard across the face with it, knocking him off the sofa. Tony doesn’t let up for a minute, laughing loudly from the floor. “Oh come on, please tell me that little school up the river taught you to hit harder than that!”

Hope dives after him, now armed with two pillows, smacking him again and again until they are both laughing so hard they can scarcely breathe, putting all of their cares out of mind if only for one night.

* * *

The next morning, Pepper Potts finds a surprise waiting for her in a jumble of blankets and pillows on the floor of the living area in the mansion: the CEO of Stark Industries and the newly elected Chairman of the Board of Pym Technologies are snoring side by side. Tony rests on his back, his fingers laced with those of the young woman next to him, who is lying on her belly, an ankle looped around Tony’s to anchor herself to him in her sleep.

Given her boss’s proclivity to abandon women after he’s slept with them and leaving the mess for her to clean up after, Pepper isn’t sure what she finds stranger – the fact that this is the first time she has seen Tony look so comfortable curled up by a woman or that the pair are fully clothed in blue jeans and old, faded t-shirts, looking a little rumpled after a long night that clearly involved anything but sex.

The low table next to them is littered with a mostly empty pizza box, several bottles of water, a few candy wrappers, and a couple of empty bottles of scotch. Becoming more confused by the second, Pepper picks up the leftover food and takes it to the kitchen to store away, then takes a seat at the counter with a fresh cup of coffee, unfolding this morning’s edition of the _Times_. 

She nearly spits out the mouthful of beverage when she reads the headline on the front page.

“Pym Voted Out of Company by Own Daughter.”

She had caught the news of Hope’s election last night as she was getting ready for bed, the name and face generating a memory of meeting the young woman a few years previous at her college graduation. It had been one of her first trips accompanying Tony only a few months into her employment as his personal assistant, and his excitement for the ceremony had intrigued her.

Bambi Arbogast, one of the secretaries that had been with Stark Industries for decades, had been the one to inform her that Mr. Stark had known Ms. van Dyne since she was a child and that the young woman, who was the daughter of the famed Dr. Hank Pym, was quite a prodigy. “Nineteen years old and finishing her undergraduate studies at Harvard at the top of her class!”

Pepper was not quite sure what to expect upon meeting Hope, but as introductions were made, she found the young woman to be amiable, incredibly polite, and infinitely more humble than Tony Stark.

She reads through the article beneath the headline, eyes narrowing. The story points out that Darren Cross, newly appointed CEO of Pym Technologies, had divulged the details of the decision and the vote to remove Dr. Pym from the company. Although she is confident now that Hope had confided in Tony about what she had done, Pepper is fairly certain the young woman had not planned on publicizing the fact that she was the one who had cast the deciding vote that ended her father’s tenure as head of the company he had built.

Sighing quietly, she returns to the living area, her eyes lingering on the sleeping figures, sympathy stirring in her heart at the thought of the rude awakening in store for them once they woke up. Padding to the sofa, Pepper plucks the throw blanket kept on one of the cushions and shakes it out, settling it carefully over Tony and Hope as if it would protect them just a little longer from the world that waited outside.

* * *

Pepper is drawn into the tiny circle of trusted friends in Hope’s life after that morning. The two women keep in touch through emails and meeting for meals whenever they happen to find themselves in the same city at the same time, and while Hope is eternally grateful for Tony, it feels so damn good to have another woman close to her age that she can talk to.

A few years later, the morning after Tony and Pepper’s relationship officially goes public, Tony receives an email containing a single sentence from the account of hvandyne@pymtech.com.

_“If you break her heart, I will kick your ass even if you’re hiding inside of your suit.”_

* * *

Darren’s preoccupation with the stories of the Ant-Man continues to grow over the years, spiraling into an obsession that frightens Hope. She comforts herself with the knowledge that he is still years away from finding answers about the shrinking tech, and – never one to be passive – by the clever false trails Hope herself plants in his research.

That all changes the day that Captain America crashes three Helicarriers into the Potomac and the Black Widow spills all of SHIELD’s secrets onto the internet.

In no time at all, Darren has found nearly all of the research Hank tried so hard to bury, including footage of missions undertaken by the Ant-Man in the Soviet Union. His work progresses by leaps and bounds thanks to the information and Hope has no idea who to turn to in order to stop him. The company scientists and engineers are eager to dissect the technology and are loyal to Darren. She will find no help there. After Darren’s first successful test shrinking inorganic material, she becomes so concerned they are nearing a breakthrough that she finally swallows her pride and reaches out to her father, her desire to keep the tech out of Darren’s hands trumping her bitter feelings toward Hank.

It has been years since that fateful board meeting and they have not seen each other in all that time. Hope knocks on the front door and then sticks her hands in her jean pockets, shifting from foot to foot, nervous despite herself.

When Hank opens the door, he takes a rapid step back, eyes widening in shock and hand shooting up to clutch at his heart. “Jesus Christ!”

Hope realizes in hindsight that she should have probably given him some kind of a warning before showing up on his doorstep, her hair now cropped in a short bob, the style making her look every bit the image of her mother.

* * *

Plans for the heist are coming together slowly but surely. Hope plays her part to perfection, making herself an invaluable asset to Darren while learning everything she can, memorizing blueprints and information in classified documents and strengthening her skills using the EMP communication device.

One day she notices that her father has been saving newspaper articles about the VistaCorp scandal, most of which focus on a man named Scott Lang, a former employee of the company who was fired for whistleblowing on the financial activity of the CEO. Undeterred, Lang proceeded to hack into the company’s systems to return all of the money they stole from their customers and ended up being arrested.

Picking up the most recent story covering his upcoming release from San Quentin, she looks down at the black and white photograph of Lang, her eyebrows knitting together. An uneasy feeling settles in her stomach; she can’t help sensing that her father is once again keeping things from her.

* * *

Hank has picked Lang to wear the suit.

She ends up calling the cops on him for breaking into the house and “stealing” it; Hank helps him break out of jail and uses 247 to bring him back to the house.

She decides to test his mettle, setting loose an army of bullet ants all over the floor of the guest room where Lang is passed out on the bed; Hank welcomes him to their breakfast table and offers him a cup of tea.

Hope would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t being childish, but she is frustrated and hurt that her father would trust the criminal across the table to don the suit instead of her, his own flesh and blood. When she had first approached him to ask for his help, she had allowed herself to believe that maybe there was the slightest chance they could make peace. That perhaps now that she was a grown woman, he would trust her, but he continued to shut her out as he had done for the majority of her life.

It really is unfair of her to take out her irritation on Lang, who has no clue what the hell is going on, but she is determined to do everything she can to prove to Hank that she should be the one carry out the mission.

If that means rattling Scott Lang’s cage to scare him off, then who would blame her for trying to have a bit of fun?

* * *

Hope returns to the house following Darren’s successful test shrinking a lamb feeling sick to her stomach, fear twisting her insides and making her even more short-tempered than usual. She finds Hank and Lang talking downstairs in the basement and informs them that they no longer have months to prepare. Cross will be ready in mere days and they cannot afford to wait any longer.

“I’m wearing the suit.”

Predictably, her father shoots her down for the umpteenth time. “Absolutely not!”

Taking a deep breath, she tries to reason with him using logic, resolutely not backing down. “I know the facility inside and out. I know how Cross thinks. I know this mission better than anybody here.”

Hank counters her statements, insisting that they need her close to Cross in order for the mission to work. Growing weary of the same old argument, Hope lets her temper get the better of her, gritting her teeth in frustration and doggedly evading Hank’s pleas for her to listen.

“He is a criminal! I’m your daughter!”

He stuns her into silence when he slams his hand on the table, shouting, “No!”

In all her life, her father has never once raised his voice at her no matter how petulantly she was behaving and she isn’t sure how to react, gaping at him, her mind reeling. It isn’t until Hank turns away from her that she notices Lang still hanging around, effectively trying to blend into the wall and looking like he wishes he was anywhere but caught in the crossfire between them.

Trying to hide the monumental embarrassment she feels, Hope attempts to give him a sardonic smile but fails spectacularly, too cut up by this latest clash with her father. Keeping her head held high, she calmly walks away, not wanting to be in the same room as either of them right now. She lingers close enough to hear the two men conversing, their voices carrying in the stillness of the basement, and her heart constricts when she hears Hank admit that she used to look at him like he was the greatest man in the world.

The words spark a memory, decades old now, of a playground a couple of blocks away from the house. She had taken a nasty spill off the monkey bars, breaking her arm when she hit the ground, crying and screaming from the pain. Her father had rushed to her side. While her mother had run home to fetch the car to take her to the emergency room, Hank had been the one to hold her close, cuddling her and kissing her forehead to soothe her, murmuring that everything was going to be all right, and she had every reason to believe him because he was her daddy, who was good and honest and would always protect her no matter what.

There was a part of her that still desperately wanted to believe that, but maybe Hank was right. Maybe it was too late for him. Maybe it was too late for her, as well, to keep wishing for things that would never be.

* * *

She grudgingly agrees to help train Lang to wear the suit. There is so much for him to learn and so little time for him to master every skill that will aid him, so she pushes him hard, her pace almost punishing. He is skeptical in the beginning. Lang believes he learned everything there was to know about fighting during his three year stint in prison, but that idea is obliterated with that first swift punch of hers to his nose, effectively dropping him in one precise move.

To be honest, she does relish the opportunity to kick a little ass, using her talents to teach Lang how to effectively harness his own strength while wearing the suit. Less productively, she also finds herself falling back on old habits, focusing all of her anger at the situation and converting it into the fluid beauty of the skills she has honed since childhood, graceful but still dangerous.

Lang gives as good as he gets, not quite her match but able to keep up with her demanding speed and proficiency, and she eventually finds herself enjoying the sparring despite herself.

* * *

Training Lang to communicate with the ants ends up an unmitigated disaster.

Most of her day had been spent at the office, a fake smile plastered on her face as she helped Darren finalize the event planned for the official sale of the Yellowjacket. By the time she had escaped, her nerves were on edge. The fact that Lang has not made any progress whatsoever with the communication device gnaws at her patience and she makes no secret of how weary and exasperated she feels.

Hank immediately comes to Lang’s defense, insisting their focus should remain on helping him, and the words are so reminiscent of the time he did not come to her aid when she was expelled from school, she cannot help but bite back, disdain evident in her voice and expression.

“Really? Is that where our focus should be?”

She knows she has hit a nerve when he casts his eyes to the floor, crestfallen, and she is certain she reminded him of that conversation in the car all those years ago.

Fed up with everyone and everything, she snatches the EMP communication device and slips it over her ear, fury running through her veins as she commands the ants to do what she wants, demonstrating her abilities. On her directive, they work together to drop cube after cube of sugar in the cup of tea, while another group marches across the ceiling, almost dancing around the hanging lamp. She is so focused, she does not realize the room has darkened from the multitude of ants moving in sync to obscure the lights, seemingly under their own power now, until her father sharply calls her name.

Disgusted by her loss of control, she turns on her heel, preparing to walk out, but she stops short at his side. “I don’t know why I came to you in the first place.”

She may have been aiming to wound him again, but the quaver in her voice betrays her own pain.

* * *

When Lang follows her out to her car, she does not tell him to get out. Now that she stops to think about it, he has done everything she has asked and has tried his best, and it really isn’t his fault her father has dragged him into this mess. The man has been genuinely nice to her when she hasn’t been nearly punching his lights out or sending scathing remarks his way, and whatever he thought of the relationship between herself and her father, he has kept quiet, knowing his opinion was neither asked for nor wanted.

Maybe that is the reason she ends up spilling her guts to him.

As they talk about the reasons he has committed himself to the mission she so badly wants to take on herself, Hope thinks about his daughter and how afraid she is that history will repeat itself, that there will be another little girl growing up without the reassuring presence of her father. She steals a glance at him, thinking for the first time that maybe he isn’t really a bad man and perhaps he will be stronger and better than Hank ever was.

They return inside the house to find Hank standing before the fireplace, head bowed, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He sounds dreadfully tired when he speaks and she isn’t sure she is hearing him correctly at first; it has been so long since he has truly talked about Janet beyond a passing reference in Hope’s presence. She steps closer and closer until he mentions the year 1987 and it is like her whole world stops.

Hope listens in rapt attention as her father finally, _finally_ tells her the truth, despair swelling within her heart at the faint tremble in Hank’s voice, realizing that even though nearly thirty years have passed, it is still exceedingly difficult for him to talk about what happened. It isn’t exactly easy to listen to either, discovering that her mother had sacrificed herself to save thousands if not millions of people in the path of a Soviet ICBM, and though she feels a great deal of pride at her mother’s bravery, her heart aches just as equally, mourning her all over again.

Every missing piece of her childhood seems to fall into place, merging with the memories flashing through her mind like lightning. What her parents were doing during all of those “business trips” spent away from home, gone for weeks at times. Barely remembered whispers about missions for SHIELD when they thought she was sleeping. All of the time Hank had spent downstairs in the lab when she was growing up, desperately looking for a way to find her mother.

She wishes with every fiber of her being that he had told her sooner. His intentions had been good, but all of the secrets and lies had just blown up in both of their faces, fracturing their relationship almost beyond the point of repair. 

Now perhaps there was hope.

After Scott leaves the room, Hank slowly shuffles closer, and it suddenly strikes her how much he has aged in the last few years. She remains completely still as he tentatively reaches out and wraps his arms around her. The sensation is so foreign to her it takes her several moments to remember the last time he held her like this was the day before he left with her mother on the very mission he had just told her about.

The day before her mother disappeared.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for my transgressions, but I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, sweetheart. I am so sorry.”

Hope cannot formulate words past the sudden lump in her throat, but she nods in understanding, finally melting into his arms as she clutches him closer, grateful for these small steps in the right direction.

* * *

The whole plan threatens to come apart at the seams when Darren unexpectedly drops by and Hope can feel the panic well in her throat, convinced he knows they are up to something. Surprisingly, it is Scott who calms her fears, suggesting they use the water main to get him inside of the facility and proposing they double the size of their team to help keep eyes on every facet of their scheme. Though both she and Hank are reluctant to utilize the same men that helped Scott initially break into the house, they really do not have any other choice. As they plot out the new tactics and things start to get back on track, however, she feels that maybe, just maybe, they might be able to pull this off.

When they have reviewed every step and ensured everything is ready, Hope prepares to go home for the evening and try to sleep a few hours. Scott sees her out, quietly trying to thank her for her help, but she cuts him off, making a snarky but playful comment about him having just a slight chance of succeeding.

He responds good-naturedly, a hint of mischief in his own voice as he thanks her for the amazing pep talk.

“You know, the honest truth is I went from despising you to _almost_ liking you,” she teases.

“You really should write poetry,” he shoots back.

Hope snickers in response, a genuine smile on her face as she bids him good night and shows herself out the door, thinking that she was right: Scott wasn’t all that bad.

* * *

Everything goes according to plan until it doesn’t.

Darren really did know something was going on behind his back and had figured out their plan to steal the Yellowjacket, trapping Scott in the glass encased pod after he breaks through all of the security. Unable to resist grandstanding, Hank’s former protégé informs them he has already sold his tech to Hydra for twice the original asking price with a gleeful smile on his face. It is then that he orders his men to hold Hank at gunpoint.

Hope feels her heart skip a beat, every muscle in her body tightening in response, and she tries to pull Darren back from the effects of his own version of the Pym particles, remembering the man he was before his descent into this madness. For one moment, she believes she has broken through to him, but then he takes a gun from one of his men and holds it to her father’s head.

Hope reacts without thinking, slamming her elbow into the face of the man closest to her and taking his weapon, aiming it at the person who was once her friend. She is so terrified for her father’s life, she barely notices Darren’s threat to kill her as well, her forefinger fractionally tightening on the trigger.

“You picked the wrong side, Hope!” he shouts, pushing the gun to her father’s face.

She is just about to pull the trigger when there is an explosion of glass as Scott finally figures out how to escape from the pod, and the ensuing fight devolves into complete disarray. Hope holds her own, all of those years of training under the attentive eye of Aunt Peggy paying off in spades as she takes down men twice her size.

A shot suddenly rings out and she sees her father fall to the floor, icy fear gripping her. Before she can reach his side, Scott is there, but Darren quickly follows, commanding Scott to take off the suit. Knowing she only has seconds, Hope stuffs her hand in her pocket and withdraws the EMP device, calming her racing heart, concentrating on finding the handful of ants that remain nearby and sending them to Darren. They attack on her command, distracting him from Hank and Scott, and he runs from the vault, taking the briefcase containing the Yellowjacket.

She orders Scott to pursue Darren, then helps her father sit up. The charges placed around the facility to destroy it are due to go off at any moment and there’s a long way to go for them to escape the building.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to die. And neither are you.”

Although he is weak and bleeding, Hope can’t help but smile at him through her tears, believing him despite herself because he is her father, who tried to be good and was learning to be honest with her, but would always protect her no matter what.

Hank removes his tank keychain from his pocket and hands it over to her, enlightening her to its true purpose. Comprehension dawns on her face and she almost laughs out loud despite the seriousness of the situation, absolutely tickled at her father’s ingenuity. She uses the tech in the Futures Vault to enlarge the tank to its full size, then helps Hank climb inside, strapping him in as best she can before settling herself down in the driver’s seat. She is quick to figure out how to operate the machinery thanks to her remarkable instincts and all that time spent playing with Tony Stark in his father’s lab during her childhood, and they bust through to the outside, Hope whooping with delight as the tank flies through the air.

Once they are safely back on firm ground and out of the tank, she calls for a doctor, following on the heels of the police officers who direct her father to a waiting ambulance. She spares a glance up at the night sky, wondering where Scott is and if he has caught up to Darren yet, when the building blows and then collapses in on itself, vanishing into thin air. Hope looks on with wide eyes at the destruction, momentarily stunned by the devastation. Hank reaches for her hand, lightly squeezing her fingers, and as she turns to him, she realizes it was just a building; her father built the company up with his own two hands, and if he chooses to come out of retirement, he won’t have to rebuild Pym Technologies alone.

Hope will be there by her father’s side.

* * *

They sit in the house a few days later once things have calmed down and Hank has been discharged from the hospital, and Scott recounts what very little he remembers about his escape from the Quantum Realm. Hope listens intently from the doorway, unable to help but think of her mother, and as she turns her eyes to her father, she knows he is thinking the exact same thing.

Was there a possibility, a chance, that her mother might still be out there somewhere?

She doesn’t think she is ready to consider the probabilities just yet, her emotions too raw from everything that has transpired the last few days, but she promises herself that someday very soon she will tackle the questions herself.

Deciding her father needs his rest and time for himself, she volunteers to show Scott out. The door has scarcely closed behind them when Scott reaches over and pulls her close, swooping in for a brief kiss. He leans back a little, looking like he fully expects her to clock him, but instead she chuckles softly and follows after him for another kiss that lasts longer than the first.

The moment doesn’t last that long, however, because before she knows it, Hank is opening the door and she extricates herself from Scott’s lips, closing her eyes and shaking her head as her father asks when this started happening between them.

“Nothing’s happening.”

Out of all the normal things she missed out on growing up, she is suddenly incredibly glad she never had to endure being caught by her father after hours on the front porch with a boy. 

Scott tries to bullshit his way out, placing the blame squarely on Hope’s shoulders, but her father sees right through him, calling him out on his load of crap. After Scott makes his escape down the stairs, Hank gives her a strange look, but doesn’t comment further on what he just witnessed. Taking that as a good sign, she wanders to the window, watching as Scott drives off, a small smile on her face, feeling happy and completely settled for the first time in ages.

She stands alone for a few minutes until her father joins her, calling her name from behind. Still feeling slightly chagrined at being caught kissing Scott, she turns to face him, wondering if he is going to tell her off, but he surprises her by beckoning her down to the basement. Curious, Hope follows after him.

They make their way to a section of the basement that had been off limits to her as a child, and remained so even when she reached adulthood.

“I realized you can’t destroy power. All you can do is make sure that it’s in the right hands.”

Hank punches in the code to unlock the door and it slides up to reveal a suit unlike anything she has ever seen before. It is slimmer than his, the shape clearly feminine, and delicate wings protrude from the back constructed from a material she does not recognize.

“This is an advanced prototype that your mother and I worked on together. She never got to use it,” he explains, watching her as she steps further into the chamber to get a better look, her eyes wide with wonder. “But now I realize that we were working on it for you. Maybe it’s time we finished it.”

Slowly, Hope turns to look back at him, ripples of shock still racing down her shoulder blades. All this time, he had kept this hidden down here, perfectly preserved, afraid to let this last piece of Janet slip into the wrong hands, but now he was entrusting it to her, placing his faith in her to use it to accomplish some good in the world.

Pride, excitement, and overwhelming joy bring a smile to her face as Hope fixes her eyes on the suit, _her suit_ , her heart caught in her throat as she whispers, “It’s about damn time.”

* * *

The first time she attempts to fly in the finished suit, she grossly miscalculates its power and ends up flat on her face in the backyard, the wind knocked completely out of her. She releases the latch on the faceplate and struggles to catch her breath, feeling a trickle of blood run down her chin from where she had bitten her lip on the rough crash, and she remembers the difficult time Scott had adjusting to the Ant-Man suit.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been so damn hard on him all those months ago because this isn’t as easy as she thought it would be.

Hank rushes to her side, helping her sit up, gentle hands cupping her face as he examines the cut on her lip. She obediently wriggles her fingers and toes to reassure him that she is indeed all right, mixed emotions running through her as he looks her over. He has spent the past few months trying so hard to be the father she remembered from her earliest years, determined to make up for all that lost time, but there is a long road ahead. Hope has been wounded too many times to forgive him completely, her own instincts demanding that she protect herself from further heartache, too conditioned to believe he would distance himself again at the first opportunity.

She blinks in surprise as her father brushes his thumb along the curve of her cheek, tenderly kissing her forehead. He looks her in the eyes.

“Ease into it, sweetheart. Just start off slow and get the feel for it. You have all the time in the world.”

He is right, she thinks to herself. There is time. Time to make things right. It might take a while for them to get there, but if they worked together just as they had to finish the suit, maybe they could begin to heal those old wounds.

Hope gives him a nod and readjusts, taking a deep breath to steady herself, and this time when she launches, she soars. She laughs in delight as she climbs into the sky, quickly learning how to move her body, the minute adjustments needed to alter her movements, gradually becoming more graceful.

As she watches the world from above, a long forgotten memory flashes before her eyes of a time when she was very small, pretending to fly in her mother’s arms, spinning round and round the yard, and the sound of Janet’s jovial laugh echoes in her ears.

Hope’s eyes shine bright with unshed tears and she smiles fiercely as she dives elegantly back toward the ground, and in that moment, everything is right in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> This story probably could have been a lot longer, but I eventually cut myself off. I have a lot more headcanons, almost enough to write a whole other story, many of which I've already jotted down, that delve even more into Hope's past and even some into the future. If I can keep the motivation going, this may spill into a second story.
> 
> Evangeline Lilly did a Twitter & Facebook chat a few weeks ago to discuss the movie, and some of the things she said about Hope and her relationships with the other characters stuck in my head. I tried to stay as true to her beliefs as I could and melded them with my own headcanons about the character. Also, when she was asked for three words to describe Hope, she stated, "Hurt, formidable, honest." Those three words were my mantra while writing this entire story and - other than twelve-year-old Hope's moment of dishonest sneakiness - I hope (ha) I stayed true to that as well. 
> 
> As far as I know, the song Tony sings to Hope is supposedly a genuine thing. It's called The Engineers' Drinking Song and I cracked up when I found it because it was easy to imagine a young Tony singing it.
> 
> Comments/criticisms would be appreciated!


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